The Bonds That Bind Us
by Melodramatic
Summary: Sometimes you don't know what you're missing until you've got it. Once you have it, how far would you go to hold on to it?


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TITLE: The Bonds That Bind Us

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AUTHOR: Melodramatic

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STATUS: In progress.

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CATEGORY: Angst, Drama. 

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RATING: PG-13

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SPOILERS: Before "The Expanse"

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CONTENT WARNINGS: none so far.

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SUMMARY: Sometimes what's been missing in your life hits you when you least expect it. Once you find it, how far will you go to hold on to it?

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DISCLAIMER: The legal mumbo jumbo – I don't own Star Trek and I never will, so please don't sue me. I'm a starving student – you'd get nothing! Any similarities to persons living, dead, or fictional is unintentional. Any characters, species, places etc. not of the Trek world are my own, so please do not use without my permission.

Author's notes: 

I planned on completing this story first before posting it, but with school and other time constraints, I've gotten **severely** sidetracked. This is my first ENT fanfic and I started it a year ago. I really like writing and love where I planned for this story to go. I hope you enjoy this chapter, but please know that updates may take a while. Feel free to review. Constructive criticism is welcomed. No flames, please. 

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Cold air infiltrated the room through a broken ventilation duct. The room, a dull steel gray that mirrored the coldness of the air, had boxes and barrels strewn carelessly around the floor. In a corner beneath the sole, dim, flickering light, a vague form shifted. Tiny hands reached for a tattered blanket and pulled it closer around its shivering body in a vain attempt to stay warm. Its pitiful sniffles and whimpers were drowned out by the creaking groans of the stressed vessel whisking it away into the unknown at Warp 1.8. 

"Please. Let me go, please!" it cried weakly. Hungry, tired and afraid, it pleaded yet again for its freedom. Suddenly, a door at the side of the room slid open violently, letting in a pillar of light that revealed the huddled figure and painfully blinded its eyes. 

Warm air graciously drifted in through the open door, wafting pleasantly over her chilled body. One of the marauders, brandishing a mek'telh, stormed into the room to tower over her - the blade wickedly glinting in the shaft of light. 

"Silence, you miserable p'tahk!" he growled menacingly. "One more sound, and I'll gladly put you out of your misery – permanently!" He gestured with the knife, drawing it in a swift arc across his throat. The irate scowl on his face left no doubt that he would kill her the second she irritated him any further. Glaring at the tiny figure for a moment as if daring her to make a sound, he started to back out of the room, his hand reaching for the door handhold. He swiftly slid it closed and in the brief silence, she could hear the door lock behind him. The dregs of heat that entered the room quickly dissipated – no match for the onslaught of the cold. Her eyes, adjusting again to the darkness, surveyed the room, taking in the bleakness of her situation. Bringing her knees into her chest, she huddled back underneath the blanket, silently crying and rocking herself ever so slightly until eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep.

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Hot water cascaded down on the bowed head of Captain Jonathan Archer. Eyes closed, he stood motionless under the stream, allowing the water to relax his muscles as it flowed forcefully down his back, swerving around his hips, to finally trickle lazily down his legs to the open drain below. It had been a nerve-racking day.

Grabbing the bar of soap, Archer proceeded to wash all his troubles away. All of the sweat, all of the stress, and all of the worry he had pent up during their encounter with the Joplari. Replaying the encounter in his mind, he analyzed every aspect. 

He never intended to intrude into their space. There was no way he could have known. It would be their luck that those xenophobic aliens would have the 'shoot first, ask questions later' mentality. In a matter of minutes, Sub-Commander T'Pol informed them that six Joplari warships were hot on their tail with Enterprise looking at the wrong end of their clearly more advanced weaponry. With the simple announcement, "You are in Joplari space. This will not be tolerated," which took Ensign Hoshi Sato more time to translate than they felt like giving, Enterprise was under attack. They refused to respond to hails – they were not interested in anything 'the intruders' had to say.

Polarizing the hull plating did little to protect them from the barrage of weapons fire. Whatever those weapons were, they packed quite a punch. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed fired the phase cannons and let loose a volley of torpedoes that should have obliterated or at least made a sizeable dent on their ships. They barely scratched the paint. Unable to adequately defend themselves, Enterprise ran for it. They could only pray that the Joplari couldn't reach or maintain Warp 5. That was the only way Enterprise would make it more or less in one piece. 

In the end, it came down to the game of "Chicken". Several of their ships had fallen away, unable to keep up, until there was just one left. Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker worked his engineering genius and had Enterprise maintaining Warp 5 for 45 minutes, a minor miracle in of itself, but the other ship was still able to keep pace. Both ships' engines were straining. Enterprise was shaking in protest of the sheer forces being applied against its hull for so long. The other ship had to divert energy from their weapons systems just to keep up – a good sign, but little comfort at the time.

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Then Archer asked the question every captain eventually asks of his engineer – "Can you give me any more?" Trip's voice, every bit as strained as his engines, emphasized that it was only a Warp 5 engine. It was maxed out.

Reaching for the shampoo, Archer squeezed a huge dollop into his hand, closed his eyes and massaged the substance into his hair with a huge sigh. It lathered instantly sending tufts of suds sliding down his neck and shoulders only to be pelted away by the stream of water at chest height. The scent of citrus, sandalwood, and sarajia filled the air, a soothing combination, but not enough to keep his mind off of the troubles earlier that day.

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They had diverted power from every non-essential system on board – and even cut back on some of the essential ones. Display panels along the bridge were exploding sending smoke and sparks into the air. A few crewmen were hit by shards, but bruised and bloodied, they stayed at their posts. Able to squeeze out Warp 5.01, there was nothing left in Enterprise to give. The ship rattled violently as if in her final death throes. Tensions on the bridge were at an all-time high. Some crewmembers were whispering prayers, feeling they were in their final moments. Others glared in defiance at the viewscreen showing the menacing Joplari predator right behind them. Archer felt the stress of the flight every bit as much as the hull. His white-knuckled fingers were digging into the back of Ensign Travis Mayweather's chair at the helm as the young boomer piloted the ship hurtling through space towards hopeful salvation. 

Turning off the shower, Archer shuddered at the memory of that feeling of helplessness. They came too close to being obliterated today. In his mind's eye he remembered cursing fate, saying that it couldn't end that way. Not for him, not for his crew, not for his father's dream. The situation looked hopeless, but like the saying goes, "Fortune favors the brave" - but damned if she didn't take her sweet time getting there. 

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T'Pol, with the merest hint of urgency in her voice, informed Archer that the warp core stabilizer on the Joplari vessel was fluctuating wildly which meant only one thing – there was a warp core breach in progress. Whoops of exclamation emanated unashamedly from the crew. With a renewed sense of hope, Archer hurried to determine the minimum safe distance Enterprise would have to be to survive the imminent explosion without sustaining extensive damage. The numbers didn't look good. They were on the edge – just a little too close for his liking. In the background, T'Pol continued to report the declining status of the vessel's engines as Archer ordered Mayweather to prepare to turn the ship so that the least damaged side of their hull would take the brunt of the impact.

No sooner had the order been issued than a bright flash on the viewscreen drew the eyes of every person on the bridge. In the fading light, the twisted wreckage of their would-be assassin could be seen flailing at the heart of a kaleidoscopic shockwave headed their way – a last ditch effort to finish off the Enterprise crew. At the Science station, T'Pol observed the approaching wave, counting down the few seconds until it reached the ship. Going to shipwide, Archer ordered the crew to brace for impact while a firm squeeze applied to Mayweather's shoulder gave the silent order to turn the ship.

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In the next few seconds, the universe spun. Braced only by the back of Mayweather's chair, Archer was thrown backwards forcefully, his side catching the armrest of the captain's chair, before falling hard to the floor. As the subsequent shockwaves buffeted the ship, tossing it around like a tugboat in high seas, the crew struggled to anchor themselves to anything that would help them keep their balance. Consoles around the bridge flickered and then went dead just moments before the failing overhead lights plummeted the crew into total darkness as the ship rode out the final ebbs of the wave.

Time seemed to pass by agonizingly slow until the backup generators kicked in and power was restored – the resultant light a mere haze with all of the smoke and debris in the air. With the wind knocked out of him, Archer rose unsteadily to his feet, slightly hunched over, to assess the damage. Reports from around the ship came pouring in and T'Pol, her tone belying her disheveled appearance, steadily reported the news to the captain. There were two minor hull breaches, fortunately in unmanned sections of the ship. Injuries ranged from a few scrapes to a few broken bones, but luckily, no deaths.

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Archer milled around the bridge, checking on his officers while she gave the report. T'Pol was fine; so was Malcolm as he diligently set out to make certain they were out of danger and the ship secured. A groan from Communications revealed Hoshi gingerly rising from underneath her console, a nasty gash arcing across her forehead. As her eyes met Archer's, she tried to quickly dismiss the concern he had with a wave that she was ok. He let it be for the time being. Over at the helm, Travis was nowhere to be found. Archer called his name to which there was no reply. After a few seconds, he found the young man unconscious by the steps leading up to the viewscreen. 

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He called over another crewman, asking him to take Mayweather to sickbay and, as an afterthought, escort Hoshi there as well. Hoshi tried to protest but the look Archer sent her broke no argument. His own injuries, however, didn't escape the watchful eye of T'Pol and she suggested Archer go to sickbay as well. With a protest on the tip of his own tongue, his second-in-command gave him a similar look and subtly reminded him that he must set an example for the rest of the crew. 

Resignedly, Archer helped the crewman shoulder Mayweather's dead weight, wincing as the movement caused a stab of pain in his side. He informed T'Pol that he wanted to be regularly updated on the status of the ship and to relay Trip's estimation of how long repairs would take. With that said, they half dragged - half carried Travis to the turbolift with Hoshi in tow. Piling in, Archer realized that they had managed to narrowly cheat death and breathed a shaky sigh of relief as the door slid closed. 

After wrapping a towel around his waist, Archer's fingers grazed tenderly over the fist-sized, mottled purple bruise just below his ribs on his left side. Though it hurt a lot, nothing was broken. Doctor Phlox said that the bruise would heal faster if he stayed in sickbay for a few hours with a few of those leech-like bloodsuckers to metabolize the blood. As _tempting_ as the offer was, Archer argued that his ship was in shambles and his place was on the bridge. Phlox, knowing he would refuse, had already prepared an analgesic for the pain and sent the captain on his way.

As Archer left the bathroom to get dressed, a low-pitched whine drew his attention to the four-legged creature comfortably sprawled out on his bed amongst the pillows. Porthos fared well through the attack, despite his whining protests to the contrary. Phlox didn't have time to do a thorough examination so Archer took some cursory scans of the beagle himself, just to make sure nothing was seriously wrong or broken. He was fine, just a little banged up, so Archer tried his best to comfort the little beast by letting him relax on his bed with a handful of dog treats by his side. Porthos looked up at him with those big brown eyes and whimpered again. He was milking the situation for all it was worth. He knew what he wanted and just how to get it – cheese. Good thing that the replicators were still down, otherwise Archer would have caved a long time ago. With nothing else to offer, he gave Porthos a loving scratch behind the ears and cooed some words of empathy. 

According to Trip's report, repairs were going to be extensive. In addition to replicators being down, the warp engine was offline, there were multiple hull fractures, a couple plasma injectors were now scrap, sensors were down to 20% and their armament nearly spent. Relatively dead and blind in the water. Not to mention the brain of the ship looked like it just had a lobotomy, but all in all, the bridge was functioning as well as could be expected. 

Glancing at the time display on the wall, it was after 2200 hrs. He hoped that Chef was able to throw a little something together for the crew, as his stomach grumbled in agreement. After he made his rounds, he'd have to make sure that his crew gets something – rations even, and some rest. He got dressed and was halfway out the door when a voice called him back. 

"T'Pol to Archer," her voice projected into the room from the comm unit.

He pushed the button to open the line, "Archer. Go ahead."

"Captain, we are picking up a vessel approximately 15 km aft of Enterprise."

"Damn, that's close. Can you identify it? Is it Joplari?"

"Negative, captain. It appears to be a freighter, though modified and heavily damaged. Scans indicate that their engines and weapons are offline, and life support is failing. Damage is consistent with a massive impact from an external force. Perhaps they were caught in the shockwave as well."

"Any life signs?" Archer asked, relieved another battle wasn't on their doorstep.

"Radiation from their engines are interfering with the sensors, but I am picking up at least one life sign – very weak."

"Is the transporter online?"

"Negative."

"Sir," the British lilt of Lt. Reed piped in over the comm. "I'd advise against sending anyone over there. Our sensor readings could be inaccurate. The away team could be walking into a trap and we wouldn't know it. In our condition, sir, do you think it's worth the risk?"

Archer mulled over the situation, weighing the safety of his crew against the right thing to do. "I understand your point of view, Malcolm, but if someone over there is in need of assistance, we can't turn our backs on them." He breathed a heavy sigh. "T'Pol, you continue to monitor repairs and I'll go over there and check things out."

"Sir, with all due respect, not without proper backup you're not," Reed insisted, feeling the captain risked himself far too often. "If you're going, I'd like to come along. It'd be better if you had someone to watch your back, just in case you run into any trouble."

"Agreed. T'Pol, what's the air like over there?"

"The atmosphere is breathable, however radiation levels are increasing. I would recommend you wear the EV suits."

"Ok. Lt. Reed suit up and meet me in Launch Bay 2 on the double," Archer ordered.

"On my way," Reed answered and hurried off the bridge.

"Captain, might I suggest you also take Cmdr. Tucker," T'Pol added in.

"Why?"

"Undoubtedly, we will need materials to repair Enterprise. The commander may be able to salvage some necessary parts from that ship."

"You don't think they'd mind?" Archer questioned skeptically. "I don't know about you, but if it were me on Enterprise and someone came by and started picking it apart without consulting me, I'd tend not to be all that hospitable."

"Your mood would be irrelevant, captain. Scans show numerous hull breaches and substantial damage to their impulse manifold. We do not have the necessary time or resources to repair it. Enterprise may still be in danger and we do not know the extent of the Joplari's claim on this space. Reinforcements may have been dispatched and are on their way as we speak. The most logical course of action would be to salvage what we can, repair Enterprise, and invite the survivors to travel with us."

Archer knew she was right – they were not out of the woods yet. Enterprise had to be their top priority. He had no choice but to defer to her logic. "Tell Trip to join us in Launch Bay 2. He'll hate that I'm tearing him away from his engines, but he'd know best what we need. If he puts up a fuss, tell him it's your fault."

"Aye, Captain," she said coolly, sidestepping the joke. 

Archer closed the channel and headed out to suit up. "Let's just hope whoever is over there is friendly," he muttered.


End file.
